


(re)fuse

by thraume (ethia)



Series: Galathea [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: 2nd person POV, Backstory, But it Feels So Good, Early Days, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Gabriel Lorca is playing the long game, Oh wait, Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension, Smut, and enjoying the hell out of it, anticipation is half the fun, explicit porn, it's not romance if they're not kissing and dating, mild pining, mutual conquest, riding the edge of if, she's really got it bad, the slow courting of Katrina Cornwell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethia/pseuds/thraume
Summary: Isn't a single thing they could find distracting about building their friendship. Except each other, of course.Followscoalesce, but can be read on its own.





	(re)fuse

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm a silly sap at heart, who sometimes doesn't care about a flimsy premise, and likes to go about things sideways.
> 
> And because I needed fluff and cuddles and steamy porn.
> 
> Guilty pleasure feel-good fic, in which Gabriel Lorca is an all-out southern boy. And Katrina Cornwell is totally not smitten with a certain ensign. Or vice versa.
> 
> Enjoy. Or so I hope.

A fresh wind whips your hair about your face as you stand waiting to board the first shuttle due for the Galathea this morning.

Dawn is a shy crawl peeking over the horizon, a splash of peach and gold fading into the frosty blue of a chill autumn sky. You're shivering in your uniform, cold and tired, and is it any wonder that you're thinking back to the warm bed you've just left, the heat rolling off the lover you'd chosen for the night.

Speaking of the devil.

There he is, ducking in through the now open doorway no ten paces ahead of you.

Gabriel Lorca.

It's no surprise at all that he would want to make an early start of it as well.

Sober and in a haze of daylight he looks even better than he did in any of the settings you had the pleasure of seeing him in last night.

Smart in his uniform; good enough to eat, really, or at the very least rake your eyes all over him. Something you refrain from doing, of course; you're colleagues now, and nothing but.

Inside, once he becomes aware of you, there's nothing about him would betray he's ever even seen you before.

Just a nod, a sharp little salute, ensign to lieutenant, and that's the whole of it. Your recent encounter but a fading memory, exactly like he promised.

As though not all that long ago, he didn't so subtly stall for time, wouldn't let you leave his side, one kiss turning into another, his mouth lingering over yours, your hand entangled in his hair.

Both of you so unwilling to let go, caught with stubborn deliberation in the throes of a pleasant, fleeting dream.

What harm indeed, to let yourself fall asleep in his arms. Wake up to the somewhat wistful curl of his smile, the slow surety of his kiss as you drifted inevitably toward your goodbye.

"Lieutenant." His voice when he greets you in passing no different than before, low and rough with lack of sleep. Minus some of the warmth you didn't know you'd miss so sharply.

He's careful to keep his distance as he navigates the crammed space inside the shuttle, walking straight on to take a seat next to a petite brunette, an ensign like him, and just like that, he's chatting her up, easy as you please. Her smile is coy where his is winning, inviting her into conversation with him. She looks flustered; obviously flattered by his approach, and you wonder what his game is, when all the while, his eyes stray to you, furtive but not so secret as to go wholly unnoticed. If this is him, letting his reputation work in his favor, chasing after yet another pretty skirt, so no one will think anything of the glances he keeps sneaking your way.

Least of all, perhaps, you.

You choose a seat at a distance you deem safe; safe, but not out of his line of sight.

It really shouldn't matter to you, which way his affection falls, but your mind keeps mulling it over and over as you stare at the datapad in your lap, last minute additions to the roster the first officer has drawn up for your first month on board.

Your attention so carefully averted that your eyes meet only once, so briefly as to barely count as contact at all. But you forget to breathe as his gaze locks with yours, his head dipped, a glow of warmth shining through the thick bend of his lashes, a hook in his smile, a moment you share, him and you, and then it's over, and your heart is chasing after itself in your chest as you curse that stupid, unnecessary infatuation of yours.

Unplanned and unbidden, but no less real for it.

No less thrilling.

With a silent sigh, you let your eyes slip shut in a pretense of sleep, wondering if that year in space ahead of you will be long enough for you to get over yourself.

If you will be able to gain his friendship, and enjoy his company without the occasional pang, the odd daydream at the most inopportune moment.

If you must really hold yourself back from having something more.

And aren't you off to a promising start so soon after slipping out of his bed.

Already thinking about getting right back in.

//

Settling in on yet another new ship seems much easier this time around, with the added bonus of having the most inquisitive mind on board under your wings. Sharp, quick on the uptake, fun to be around.

Not to mention easy on the eyes.

Although you really aren't supposed to take any note of the fact. Or possess prior, in-depth knowledge of the exact proportions of his heavy, muscular build.

With day shift still a good two hours away, the mess hall's empty save for Gabriel and his cup of coffee. He looks lost in thought, one hand clasped lightly around his mug, a sort of dreamy expression playing about his mouth and eyes that lends his face a softness you're not prepared to handle this early in the morning.

It makes you want to lean in and kiss your way right through the sweetness of that smile.

As though privy to your thoughts, Gabriel breaks free from his reverie on your approach, a shine of mischief in his eyes to undermine his perfectly formal greeting.

"Lieutenant. To what do I owe the pleasure of you sharing breakfast with me?"

Not skirting the edge of insubordination, not quite. Not when no one is around to hear.

The private joke earns him a raised brow, and you leave it at that, careful not to let any of your amusement shine through. Wouldn't do to encourage him.

Not even when you're so charmed by his good humor.

Better to stick with a much safer topic. Like the very thing you're here for.

"Captain Brasher has asked me to analyze the movements of the Klingons in the Astiri system. I thought you might like to help with that."

That gets his attention, all right. The full agility of his mind at your service, his ambition a hungry gleam in his eyes. Ready to excel under your tuition.

Unaware of the warm pool of want in your belly at seeing him so eager to please.

"What have you got?"

You set your tray down with a smirk, sitting with him to spill the details of your assignment, delighting in his rapt attention, and just like that, all thoughts of teasing and tension fall away, momentarily forgotten as you start to divide tasks up between you.

Around you, the mess hall starts to fill with more or less sleepy faces, a soft chatter rising, no one sparing a second glance at a lieutenant in deep conversation with her assigned ensign, so very clearly busy at work as you pore over the datapad you brought.

Maybe this will be easier than you thought. A friend to work with, no hard feelings. And certainly none of the soft, lingering ones.

Not even that quiet little whisper of want you can't bring yourself to hush. Not today, not yet.

Someday soon.

//

What possessed you to invite him to the seclusion of your quarters instead of staying in astrometrics where this rightfully belongs, you can't really say.

It's more quiet here, of course; no one to interrupt your work, your lively discussion of notable changes in Romulan tactics during the past five years.

He's accepted readily enough, like this is nothing out of the ordinary, and maybe it isn't, after all, because you had nothing but work on your mind when you proposed to take him along as astrometrics became too busy to hear yourself think.

You watch him pick at the task you've set him up with, a particularly tricky problem for him to solve while you deal with another one of your own; the careless stray of your thoughts, the way they will wander in his presence if left unattended for even a little too long.

He looks up at you, and you feel caught, doubly so. Because you were staring, unabashedly looking your fill, reveling in your memory of how he would bend his neck so willingly under the lightest press of your fingers. Even more so because you can't look away from the intensity in his eyes, the devilish spread of his knowing smile.

"I'm done." He pushes the datapad over the table, doesn't let go of it until it hits the tips of your fingers.

"Already?"

"Wasn't I supposed to finish so soon?" Oh, the smugness of his smile, the low teasing curl of his voice. "Are you admiring my smarts, Lieutenant?"

Perhaps you're fast enough catching yourself before he has any chance to notice your brief hesitation. Keep a straight face and hide your fluster.

"Commending your work, Ensign."

"Pleasure to be at your service, _ma'am_."

Well, of course you weren't. Would have been quite the feat, too, with someone as observant as him. You can't even chastise him for being clever with you; not when you've so thoroughly earned it.

Taking a look at his handiwork comes as a welcome relief, a chance to escape from the fullness of his scrutiny directed at you.

Yet another tactical situation for him to analyze.

If only he weren't so brilliant at it.

“You've outdone yourself,” you say, looking up at him with a smile that hides nothing of your admiration, and how curious that his own smile should look so bashful, like he hasn't expected your praise, when clearly his work is nothing short of deserving it.

He's managed to make your original solution look pale in comparison.

“I grow with my challenges,” he says, a current of softness in his voice, a trace of modesty, and it hits you, then, that he values your opinion, that it's important to him what you think of him.

That he cares.

And suddenly you're glad that you've brought him here, because otherwise, you wouldn't have known, wouldn't have gotten this glimpse of him, a peek right through all that bluster and bravado.

About time for you to let him have a glimpse of you in return.

//

Tonight, the lights in your quarters are dimmed, lengthy shadows pouring out, sharply edged where they start and growing ever more blurred as they slink toward the far corners of the room.

You sit on the couch opposite him, sunk in the cushions, swirling about the one finger of bourbon you've got left in your glass. Marveling at how much at home he looks, sprawled in his seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, while you yourself are equally as comfortable with your feet propped up on a stool you drew close for that purpose. Content to luxuriate in the pleasant easiness of his company.

Share something of yourself with him, snippets of your past, even if some of it is bound to dredge up issues you usually keep the tightest of lids on.

Like the topic that seems to have come up on its own, the inevitable question about your family. Which you could have avoided, skimmed over with a few cursory remarks, and leave it at that.

But he looked eager to know, keen for you to open yourself up to him, and so you complied, with an ease that astonishes you even now.

Lost in the undertow of your memories, you gaze ahead, your eyes fixed loosely on the attentive dip of Gabriel's chin, dark with a shadow of stubble. Much the same way your father's used to be at this time of day, way back when he was still around.

"You were talking about your dad," he says, the low, soft tone of his voice pulling you back into the present. There's a look in his eye, a shimmer of concern, a flicker of regret maybe at having evoked an unpleasant recollection, and it won't quite fade away under the tight little smile you manage to give.

Not so easily fooled, and you feel a fierce rush of affection for him, running so deep, so swiftly past all of your good intentions it should probably scare you. But with him, you are fearless, because he cares, isn't shy about letting you see his worry for you, a sincerity of emotion he might just as easily have chosen to hide. A show of trust that, in such a long time, with so many people, you've never felt comfortable to return.

With him, now, you do.

"Right.” A deep breath, and this time, your smile is sincere, a small spark of gratitude going his way. “After his run-in with the Romulans, he was never quite the same. Wouldn't ever talk about it. Later, at the academy, I read it up, but most of it is classified. Redacted. Earned himself a commendation, an honorable discharge on account of health issues. Unlike my two brothers and me, my mother couldn't deal with his need for space, the hours he would spend by himself, steeped in silence. In the end, they separated over it. Dad stayed with us, and Mom, well, let's just say that raising kids wasn't exactly her calling. I don't intend to repeat their mistakes."

"Breaking things off because of a crisis?"

He's leaning forward in his seat, balancing his drink on one knee, and if you didn't know better you'd swear he was fidgeting, fighting off an urge to reach out for you. Show his concern more thoroughly than a simple gaze could.

"Start a family, more like. Quite frankly, I don't see the appeal."

"Fair enough."

If only your own mother, the one person in the universe you'd thought would readily understand, had shown you even a fraction of his empathy the one and only time you broached the subject. Even if it happened to be in the middle of a fight.

But that's in the past, like so many other things you've left behind when you decided to follow in your father's footsteps. Choosing a life amid the stars in honor of his memory.

"How about you? What's your story?"

And aren't you dying to know.

"Me? Orphaned as a baby. A regular little Oliver Twist. Minus the overbearing drama. And the beatings. Unless you count all those scraps I got into as a youth. Through no fault of my own, of course."

"Yes, I can see how you would have been the innocent.” It warms you, the amused little twitch of his smile at the mock incredulity in your voice. His give, your take, and you think you could sit talking with him like this forever, never running out of ways to make him smile, or have him make you laugh. These moments of levity the perfect counterpoint to temper the edge of sobriety lacing your conversation. “What about your parents?"

"They both died on board the Mariposa when the Romulans blew it up from within the Neutral Zone. I was with my maternal grandmother and aunt at the time. Only living relatives left. Gramma Morgan didn't hesitate to take me in. Toughest lady I've ever known."

“Well, she'd have to be, bringing up a handful like you.”

“I'm very low maintenance, I'll have you know.” He grins, looking entirely too pleased, and you realize he means to cheer you up, draw you away from the heavy drag of your past. Until he sobers, his expression going soft with a subtle sheen of sympathy. “Looks like we both got the short end of the stick where the Romulans are concerned.”

“I don't know. It wasn't half bad, growing up with my father.” And it wasn't, until one day, he slipped from your reach, slipped quietly away, and you ended up back in your mother's custody, a hardship she never hesitated to let you feel. ”Loved those hikes the four of us used to take. We'd hunt for small game, go fishing, find our own fresh water. Navigate by old paper maps for the thrill of it. Just us against the wilderness. I still remember the smell of the fire, the spiciness of the pine branches in the smoke. That yearning I felt when I looked up at the stars at night. The pride of knowing that my dad had been out there, made a difference.”

The memory makes you smile in spite of it all, dear and untouched by the bitterness that followed.

How good it feels, how unbelievably easy, to share this part of you with him, have him confide in you in return. Giving himself up to you piece by fascinating piece.

“So that's where your taste for adventure must be coming from. Katrina Cornwell, intrepid explorer.”

Not as much of a quip as he wants you to believe, it makes you laugh anyway, tickled by the wicked mix of admiration and amusement in his eyes, the fine edge of sincerity in his voice.

Clever even in his veiled flirtation.

"Must have been tough, outsmarting all the other kids." And why not call him on it, although it does nothing but broaden the stretch of his smile.

"Not once I learned never to let 'em feel it. Used to be pretty lanky, back in the day. Bit of a wisecrack, too. No father around to teach me when best to keep my mouth shut, and when to keep my guard up. Lots of reasons to get into trouble for. Gramma Morgan just about the only one to keep out of it."

The smile he gives is cut short by his shrug, and it takes you right back to that moment in the bar, when he brushed off your compliment and flustered you with the unexpected open honesty of his own. The way he wouldn't look at you then, as though afraid somehow of what he would see. That your praise of him was nothing but an empty trifle, a flattery to stroke his ego.

The thought makes you ache, because you meant every word you said, and you want him to know you admire him for the man he's become.

"And didn't she raise you just fine. Quite the accomplished man. Your father would be proud, I'm sure."

He makes more sense to you now; the strength he's so carefully honed in his body, the ready ease of his nature, that thick gloss of ego so convenient to hide behind while people keep misjudging him.

Affording him the advantage of staying one step ahead of them.

"Wouldn't know that, would I?" Deflecting again, but you can tell that he's pleased, the warmth in his eyes given freely as he holds your gaze, the curve of his mouth rich with affection where it's so badly hidden behind the rim of the glass he's raised for a toast. "To absent parents."

“And absent fathers in particular.”

There's a question somewhere in the tilt of his head, but he doesn't push, content for you to unravel your past one thread at a time, the wash of his silence more comforting than any words could ever be.

//

Sharing meals with him in your quarters doesn't happen more and more often the second month into your journey, nor do you have a routine of taking turns at programming the replicator. But today, it's his treat, and what a feast he's made out of it. Pulled pork sandwiches, smoked sweet potatoes, and ice-cold beer to go with it. A bit of a mess to eat, but the finger-licking goodness of it more than makes up for the small inconvenience.

Especially with all of that finger licking on generous display.

Once or twice, from the corner of your eye, you think you catch a bit of a smolder in his gaze, but he's careful to hide it away, and you're just as careful to ignore it.

His lighthearted chatter a means of diversion as much as an effort to keep you entertained, pleased and mellow and maybe a little charmed by his company. As if he thinks he must earn his keep. When nothing could be further from the truth.

When the time you spend with him off the clock has become your favorite part of any given day.

His plate cleared, he leans back with a satisfied smile, careful to catch your eye before he picks up your thread of conversation.

“Oh, I've missed this. Almost as good as the tender meat from Old Papa Joe's barbecue smoker, handmade by the man himself from an oak whiskey barrel. With a patina of five decades, and a taste to drive a hundred miles for. That man knows how to cook. Ninety years old, face like a dried-up winter apple. A bit sweet on my Gramma, I've always suspected.”

That last bit imparted like a secret, something that causes him to chuckle, a warmth of sound that takes a hold right there next to that treacherous flutter of your heart.

"And did you? Ever drive a hundred miles for it?"

You could tell yourself that the shift in his smile, the lure in his eyes has nothing to do with the low drawl of your voice, that spill of heat that for some reason, you can't seem to keep out of it.

Yes, you absolutely could.

"What do you think? Saved the worst date of my life, it did."

It's that moment in the shuttle all over again, but this time, you don't look away.

Neither does he.

One night and two months hanging in the balance between you.

The intensity of his gaze sweeping over you, a luxurious crawl of heat on your skin, not unlike the slow burn of his touch in your memory, and what a fool you have been to think that this wasn't going to happen. That with getting ever closer to him, the pull of your want would lessen, not strengthen with each time you had dinner, met for drinks, talked away the better part of the evening.

So much for your resolve to keep things strictly friendly. Your judgment unimpaired, your work ethics untouched by personal feelings.

Way too late for that now.

Too late right from the start, if you're being entirely honest with yourself.

It's a struggle, but you break free with a small shake of your head, a wistful smile directed at the condensation slipping down the outside of your glass. The small huff of his breath like a sigh, and it gives you a pang, that you should have aggravated him.

It's something you can't apologize for.

The charge in the air doesn't clear, not wholly. It fades to the lowly simmer you're so used to by now, the faint hum of attraction that's always there in the back of your mind, entirely harmless if left undisturbed.

But the disturbances keep piling up, building in intensity and very soon now, like it or not, things will have to come to a head.

//

The question is not who started it.

Or how you got here in the first place, pressed up against the wall of the locker room, the heat and hunger in his eyes spilling over you faster than you can drink it all up.

That one's easy to answer.

One short battle sim all it took for you to put the both of you through your paces, Gabriel giving just as good as he's been getting.

Driving you both to the point of exhaustion, leaving you high on an exhilarating victory over your enemy.

Helping each other slip off the protective gear probably a stupid idea in hindsight.

Smart ideas don't end up this way.

All that touching, sweaty skin, heavy breathing bound to bring up a slew of memories.

The arch of his head into the protective curl of your fingers. The clench of your thighs as he closed his mouth intentionally hard around you. The way your last kiss of that night just wouldn't want to end, a helpless, endless search for his warmth under your mouth.

A search you're craving so much to continue now.

The question is what you're going to do about it.

"Tell me what you want." He circles your wrists with his hands, skims his fingers over yours, his touch gone again before you can even think about holding on. "I'll be happy to continue spending time with you. Talking, sharing the occasional meal. Maybe even introduce you to the joys of gritty western holo movies. But with some of the looks you've been giving me...” He lowers his head, his voice, slips his words right past your defenses. ”I think there's potential for more."

All this time he's kept himself in check, has followed your lead, waiting for you to make up your mind. His desire for you to be together far more efficiently banked than yours. But apparently no less pressing for it.

"I'd rather do without the additional entanglement of having you in my bed."

An intricate part of your everyday life, his company a privilege to look forward to.

Problem is, he already is. Without ever really trying to be.

And you wouldn't want it any other way anymore.

The naked fact of sleeping with him nothing but an afterthought now.

"Too much to handle?" A challenge in the curve of his smile as he raises his head to meet your eyes. Slow enough for you to enjoy the full measure of his confidence. His desire for you to succumb to his seduction again.

"Handled you just fine so far, didn't I?"

You don't mean for any of it; the huskiness of your voice, the slip-slide of your fingers on his chest, the firm muscle of his stomach. It's like you simply can't stop yourself, with him so close, so very available to you.

"To perfection." With his face to the side of your neck he breathes you in, and if you were to bend your head just so, just one tiny bit, you could feel his mouth on you, a fleeting touch of his heat, his want on your skin. A craving so strong it's almost impossible to endure. But then he moves, slides one hand up your arm to your shoulder, slipping his fingers round your neck, stroking, so soft and gentle as to make you shiver into his chest. When he speaks, pouring his words right into your ear, his voice is an intimate murmur, a delicate hum of a sound, a rasp like a confession. "I really like the way we're working together."

"Then it's even more important that we continue to do so without... distractions."

Like they don't keep coming, no matter how hard you've tried keeping them at bay.

"You seem pretty distracted to me."

And, yes, there it is; the very heart of it all.

He has a point, of course, and damn if he isn't going to use it to his fullest possible advantage. Damn you if you're not going to let him. But not without at least a token show of protest. Because with him, it can't ever be anything but push and pull, this way or that, no in-between.

A dance and a fight and a battle of wills.

"Not nearly as much as I would be with the two of us more involved."

And doesn't that have a sweet, promising ring to it. _Involved_.

But this time around, there's a lot more at stake for you than just one night of casual fun. You wonder if he's aware of it. When you yourself have struggled for so long to admit it to yourself.

He must at least be able to guess, given the caution of his approach, the delicate negotiation he makes of it.

"Permission to convince you otherwise? I'll take it slow, too. So you can put a stop to things whenever you like. Our accord is important to me. Wouldn't want to risk it over... this.” He runs his fingers over your cheek, along the line of your jaw, cups your chin to keep you poised on the brink of receiving his kiss. The slow, light swirl of his thumb over your mouth a question more than a caress. “But I'd like to give it a try. Being with you."

He's going to enjoy this, taking your resistance apart with every ounce of skill he possesses.

And so, undoubtedly, are you.

It's not really the thought of him in your bed that has you concerned.

Nor is it the burn of anticipation in his eyes.

It's the rush you feel at the promise of his careful conquest of you.

Like he means to keep you.

Knowing he's halfway there already.

There's only one answer you have left to give him.

"Permission granted."

The look in his eyes as he ducks his head and steps away with a curl of triumph in his smile tells you you're not going to regret this.

Because it matches the heady flare of elation in the pit of your stomach to perfection.

//

Don't be stubborn, he said.

It's nothing, you answered, but he wouldn't let up, determined to get his way with you, and in the end, you succumbed to his charms, the sweetness of his offer, and let him pull you with him to sit down on your couch together.

With your back to him, so you could lean into his touch, the knead and rub and stroke of his fingers, and you very nearly moan with it now, the relief you feel under the sweep of his hands, the deep, strong dig of his thumbs on the back of your neck, the hardened lines and curves of your shoulders.

"Jacket's in the way. Why don't you pull down that zipper for me? Just a little bit, so I can reach further down. That's it, right there. Feel that knot here? So tense. Relax, Kat. Shh. Gonna make you feel all better. Let it go. Just let it go for me, that's it. There's a good girl. Such a very good girl for me."

And you blush with it, the low, praising tone of his voice, a slow rise of heat that rolls over you in time with his skilled ministrations.

He doesn't let up until you sway with his touch, the tight bunch of your muscles gone soft and pliant under the pressure of his fingers. You sigh with the relief of it, and it feels so good to relax into him as Gabriel slides his arms around you from behind, pulling you close, pressing sweet little kisses to the nape of your neck.

"How's your head?" His murmur almost lost to the pleasant haze he's soothed you into, and you can feel his smile at the sleepy slur you can't quite keep out of your voice.

"Much better. Thank you."

If only you could say the same thing about your heart, the thick rustling furl of it in your chest. An ache so sweet you wouldn't ever give it up. Surely not as long as Gabriel keeps moving his lips so tenderly over your skin.

"My privilege." He tightens his arms around you for a firmer embrace, and it doesn't take the regret in his voice to tell you he's about to leave. "Gotta run now. I'm due for debrief with Commander Hume. Better not be late. You know what he's like."

"Uh-huh." Meticulous, dedicated, straightforward. Not unlike a certain ensign you've come to know. Two of a kind, really. A bit of a father figure for Gabriel to look up to. Not that he'd ever admit to it. "Don't let me keep you."

You twist around to watch him rise, surprised to see an edge to his smile, a tempting curl of invitation to it, a lace of yearning in the sweep of his gaze.

"Oh, but you haven't been keeping me. Not yet."

And for the rest of the night, you can't stop thinking about the bend of his head, the way he looked at you with so much promise in his eyes.

Thinking about all the ways for you to keep him, and be kept by him in return.

//

He doesn't need your help clearing away your glasses and the bowl of sweets you've shared over the movie he picked, but it's a nice excuse to stay close, give him plenty of opportunity to brush against you time and again.

"You didn't like it."

Even with his back to you, you can hear the smile in his voice, the familiar dip and hook of his teasing tone.

"I did."

Turning around once he's finished at the replicator, he gives you a soft little smile that widens at the look on your face, daring him to contradict you. The sternness of it ruined undoubtedly by the treacherous twitch at the edges of your mouth.

"You fell asleep halfway through."

"It's been a long day."

Which is just as true as the fact that Gabriel's arm around you and the slow rub of his fingers on your shoulder made it nigh on impossible for you not to drift off in the most pleasant of ways, nestled snugly into his side as you were.

"You know that technically, you were sleeping with me tonight?" His smile never wavers, but you know there's an edge of implication underneath. A more serious note he's slowly working his way towards. "Rumor has it you're doing so more often than not."

"Rumor also has it you're sleeping with half the female ensigns on board."

It never quite comes without a little sting, even though you know that none of it is true.

"Only half?" He's playful, yet very attentive of your mood, gently stroking your wrist, pulling you with him as he props himself up against the wall, inviting you to lean into him. "Didn't take so much as a kiss from any of them. Let alone a fuck."

And how could he have, when he's spending so much of his time with you.

"No one on board you're interested in taking to your bed?"

He lets you search his eyes to your heart's content, his expression wide open to the tug of your curiosity.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. There's someone. But she seems hesitant. In need of further persuading."

"And how do you propose to go about that?"

Discussing this like a lesson in tactics, a language you're both so familiar with. Laced with a new depth now, an added layer of meaning, of promise.

"By convincing her I'm well worth the trouble. More than a complication for her to be concerned about."

"She'd be a fool to take you for either of these things. I'm sure she considers herself lucky to be the focus of your attention."

"And here I thought I was the lucky one." There's a hoarseness to his whisper that makes your heart miss a beat, than double up to make up for the loss. He doesn't move as you burrow close, letting you come to him, melt against his chest for a slow, languid kiss. His reticence makes you moan with your need, a keen desire to have him touch you, but all he does is cradle your hips in the lightest of grasps, making you sway from side to side to feel his hands more fully.

"That's it, sweetheart. I'm right here for you,” he croons, and you press ever closer, whimpering when he finally tightens his grip on you, rubbing tender circles all over your back. "That how you want it, baby?"

It's intoxicating, that low, persuasive tone of his voice, and you can't get enough of his coaxing, far too gentle and patient for you to ever want to resist.

You're feverish with the gentleness of his touch, the light rub of his fingers over the nape of your neck, and you take kiss after kiss from him, drink up his tenderness, breathe your soft little whimpers into the waiting heat of his mouth.

He lets you take as much as you want, smiling when eventually, you grow less urgent in his arms, pulling you close to make you rest against him.

"You got tomorrow night off?" He asks and you nod, not at all surprised to hear the fine catch of emotion in your voice as you answer him.

"Yeah, why?"

"Got a little something I would like to share with you. Maybe up the ante a little. See how you like that."

By now, you've lost any clue whatsoever as to which one of you is leading in this strange, exhilarating dance of yours. Whether you're moving forward at his pace or yours.

As long as you're getting somewhere, you're happy to leave the matter undecided.

At least for now.

//

He shows up on your doorstep with a lopsided smile and a bottle of single malt, the real deal no less, hidden quite expertly in the folds of his jacket. It makes you grin in return, the mock secrecy of his ways, smuggling the good stuff around with all the air of a covert space pirate, rather laid-back and somewhat adorable.

An image you're sure not to share with him, content to let him guess at the amused twinkle in your eye. He's got more than enough swagger going around for him already.

"Are we celebrating something?"

"It's my birthday."

“In that case, many happy returns.”

What you meant for was a brief little hug, but he doesn't let you get away so easily, slinging one arm around your waist to keep you close for the slowest of kisses, a thorough hello that has you lean in and relax into his embrace for proper best wishes.

He gets to pick the movie tonight, the first half hour of it the only thing you'll be able to remember. You're too busy sharing that bottle of malt between you, trading sweet little kisses back and forth where you're pressed together snugly on your half of the couch.

Going from pleasantly buzzed to more seriously inebriated. Heavy limbs, a lightness to your head; that familiar burn in the depth of your belly that has very little to do with the malt, and pretty much everything with the pleasant curl of his body against yours.

The movie entirely forgotten at this point; all that you care about enjoying the warm, lazy skill of his mouth. Soft and unhurried, a slow spin of pleasure that ties you together without any thought of taking things further.

You could let yourself drift off like this, get comfortable in the narrow gap between his body and the back of the couch.

"Hey, how ya doin'?" Gabriel seems only too aware of the fact, and he's giving you that smile you so love, small but unmistakably caring.

"I feel so very good."

"You going to fall asleep on me again?"

“Wasn't planning to. But I think I just might. I'm sorry.”

He presses a kiss to side of your face, pulling you in. “Don't you be. Come here.”

"Gabriel?"

"Hm?"

"Won't you lie down with me?"

"Sure will for a while, my darling."

_His_ , and he's kissing you again, more seriously than he's done all night, reeling you close, tight against his chest, soft little groans falling from his mouth as he slides a hand up and down your back, openly, hungrily possessive.

And even as you wonder why he doesn't seem as drowsy as you, he gently pulls you down with him, makes you stretch out on your side right next to him, covering the both of you in the blanket he must have retrieved from the arm of the couch.

So utterly caring, and you sigh with it, incredibly content, pressing as close to him as you could possibly be.

"Shh," he whispers, slipping his arms around you, and you wonder, hazily, if it's you or himself he seeks to soothe. "Let's go to sleep, you and I."

"Mhm. I love sleeping with you."

His mouth stops where it has been nuzzling idly at your temple, and you can feel the slow stretch of his smile on your skin before he brushes a kiss to the crown of your head, long and sweet and lingering.

"So do I, sweetheart."

There's something in his voice, a strange softness you can't place, but you're too lazy to open your eyes, so sleepy in the protective embrace of his body, and so you let it slide, leaving your curiosity for morning, when you will be sober, and far more alert.

Now, you sigh contentedly as he presses close, cradling your head to his chest, and you curl yourself into him, stupidly happy to have him hold you again, and your heart, that silly, drunken thing, soars with it.

//

One week of opposing shifts, and you haven't seen neither hide nor hair of him.

Until tonight, when he slips quietly into astrometrics, squatting down right next to the desk you're sitting at, putting the finishing touches on Brasher's assignment.

This way, you're almost eye to eye, his position giving you the advantage of height over him for once.

"You didn't have to see yourself out the other night." As admonishments go, you're being rather soft with him, mellowed by the simple fact of having him near again.

"Didn't want to overstay my welcome." A crooked smile, but a trace of insecurity in the dark of his eyes.

"You wouldn't have." You cup his cheek without a second thought, and he bends his head to make your palm slide lightly over his face. He hums with it, the gentleness of your touch, and you realize he's missed you as much as you have him. "How's night shift coming along for you?"

"Fine so far. Bit hard on my social life, though, I'm afraid."

“My poor Gabriel.”

There's a look in his eyes that makes your heart tumble and sway and lose a beat, hopelessly drunk on the catch of hope at the edges of his smile.

_Yours_ , and you'd never have dared to make such a claim if it hadn't slipped out so unguardedly, a by-the-way that has him go still, holding his breath, his eyes searching yours for a depth beyond the levity of your tone.

Seeking reassurance, and you give it to him with another gentle slide of your palm over his cheek, reinforce it with a lingering kiss, abrim with the sweetness you feel for him, out here in the open where anyone might see. Let them, and let them know how much you've come to care for him.

It's never been about what others think.

“My shift's about to start,” he whispers from his crouch, and you can tell how much he doesn't want to leave, even as he starts to rise, away from your touch.

“Don't I get to say goodnight properly?”

Apparently, you do, because he pulls you right up with him, tight against his chest, his mouth hot and pliant under yours.

You want too many things to fit into just one kiss. So you content yourself with telegraphing your need, your mounting desire to be with him, as fully and deeply as you could possibly be. Quite successfully, too, if you're not mistaken by the eager clutch of his hands on your hips and the low, breathless rasp of his voice.

"Didn't feel like saying goodnight."

"Wasn't meant to. When's your next night off?"

"Day after tomorrow. Why?"

"Meet me in my quarters. Stay the night, give me your full attention. No rules, no regulations, just us."

For a moment or two, you think he's going to risk being late for his shift, the conflict of it so very plain on his face. But in the end his sense of duty wins out, and that's exactly as it should be.

He steps away with a burn in his eyes, a fire in his voice, and you swallow thickly at the promise in his words.

”I'm going to make it so very, very good for you. Worth every second of the wait."

Never mind the pleasant slowness between you you've come to enjoy so much; you're never going to last another two days.

//

You haven't dressed up for him; no extra make-up, no perfume.

Just the plain old uniform, blue and gold to set off the specks of color in your eyes.

He looks ready to eat you up anyway.

A sentiment you return to the fullest.

Things are different tonight, a barely contained charge in the air, a flicker of tension in every single look you exchange.

His gaze hot and heavy with an expression of _come hither_ and _let me_ , a pull so strong you can feel it like a touch, a grip of want that makes your womb clench sharply in delicious anticipation.

But he keeps away from you, remains at a distance, settling down in the middle of your couch, his slow, sure smile a thing of sheer beauty.

"You want me, Kat? Come and get me."

The warm drawl of his voice laced with equal parts challenge and sweet invitation.

And you realize he's going to make you work for it. That all this time he's held back so you would come to him in your own sweet time.

Tonight, you're meant to conquer _him_.

And so you will, with greatest pleasure.

"That what you want, Gabriel?"

He lets out a long, slow breath and watches, with nothing less than ardent interest, as you reach for the zipper of your jacket, giving a tug that moves it down by no more than two or three inches.

"I'll let you know exactly what I want." The low, dark tone of his voice doesn't distract you from the way he shifts in his seat, the way his fingers flex and curl where they rest on his thighs. "Why don't you sit down with me?"

You do better than that; you straddle him and swallow his gasp in your mouth as you help him out of his jacket, slinging it away before you slip your hands under his shirt, hungry for his skin, rubbing and stroking and sliding until he squirms with it.

It's only then that you push your hands lower, right down the front of his pants, making him arch and swear as you take a hold of him, already full and hard in the teasing lightness of your grasp. He helps along as you slip him free, looking at you with heavily lidded eyes, his smile twisted with pleasure as he keeps pushing urgently into your touch.

The rub of your knuckles over the hard ridge of his stomach makes him grunt as you work him, and the sight of him, so wanton for your touch, leaves you breathless and wanting and hot all over.

"Are you warm, Kat? Perhaps you would like help taking this off?"

Of course he would notice, even now, his attention never slipping fully from you, and you hurry along as he tugs at your jacket, eager to get back to touching him.

He has other ideas, apparently, stilling your hands with one of his own, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand.

Smug, suggestive and, despite your best efforts, still in control.

"Let's have your shirt off, too."

"What about the bra?"

"You do it."

He cups your breasts while you undo the clasp behind your back, the push and arch of your chest too perfect to resist. You groan with the sensation, the flick of his thumbs over your stiffening nipples, and he licks his lips in obvious anticipation, letting out another long breath.

"And your pants, Kat."

You shimmy out of them while kneeling over his lap, having to rise to slide them off, which brings your breasts right up to his mouth. He leaves them wet and pert and aching for his touch, and you gasp as he breathes hotly over them, his fingers meanwhile sliding over the the creases of your thighs, those incredibly soft folds of skin right under the curve of your buttocks, and it feels so good, so fucking fantastic that you almost forget about the plans you had for him.

Leaning close, you force yourself to clear your head, ignore his attempts at distracting you, and get back to working at building his pleasure.

Soon enough, he's writhing again, increasingly mindless under the curl of your fingers, the rub of your palm, breathing heavily against the sway of your chest.

You let him have back a bit of control, submitting to the heat and suction of his mouth as he captures your breast. A soft suckle, and your hand will move in a slow, stuttering stroke that leaves him groaning. The hard, intense pull of his mouth, a flick of his tongue and you will tighten your grip, a fast jerk that makes him buck into your fist.

And so it goes until he's panting, arching and pushing, moving too fast for this to last much longer.

You press yourself close, your mouth to his ear, your hands slow and very, very tight on him.

"I've imagined us, Gabriel. Back home on the back porch of my flat, looking out over the water. Where everyone might see. Where you're pressing me up against the railing, fucking me as deep as you can. I'm loving it, Gabriel, the way I can feel your strength all over me. The way you're being a little rough with me."

"And why... why am I rough with you, Kat?"

How desperate he sounds, how hopelessly aroused by you.

"Because you need it so much. Can't hold back even though you try. I'm not letting you. Wanna see you lose control. Give it up to me. And you're so very fucking hard for me. Just like now. Love how you feel in my hands, Gabriel. Full and hot. So responsive. All eager for me. Hungry for my touch. And that look in your eyes. So perfectly greedy for it."

He kisses you through a grunt, harshly, his mouth hard on you before it softens again, as though in apology, and then his voice is a warm, dark swirl that spills over you, sweet professions of his passion as he nears his climax. _So good for me, honey, so beautiful, don't ever stop touching me, sugar. Love this, my darling, love this so much._

There's no holding back as he crashes over the edge, his face wide open with the force of his climax, awash with pleasure and a ferocious relief. You drink in the softness that follows as he stills, the well of tenderness in his eyes as they flutter open, his gaze swimming with something akin to devotion.

He barely stirs as you wipe the both of you clean with your discarded shirt, the lazy curl of his arm around your waist keeping you close and anchored to him.

You let yourself sink into the sated, pliant sprawl of him, kissing him far more lightly than the flare of your lust for him demands, loathe to disturb the pleasant haze of his afterglow.

He makes soft little sounds under the tenderness of your mouth, runs his hands incessantly over the tops of your thighs, gentle strokes to satisfy his need for more contact.

And all the while your arousal keeps spiking, your hunger for him at a barely banked peak as you try to keep yourself slow and soft and gentle for him.

"My sweet baby," he breathes, and you can't contain your groan, can't keep yourself from kissing him harder, demanding the fullness of his attention on you. You bite your lips to keep yourself from begging, from letting even the smallest whispered plea escape, and he smiles at you, warm and slow and full with promise. Knowing exactly how far gone on him you already are.

He slides his hands along your thighs, all the way around to your ass, the slightest pressure of his fingers digging into your skin inviting you to scoot a little closer. And so you do, gasping as he slips one of his hands into your panties to brush his fingers ever so lightly over the damp, throbbing heat he finds between your legs.

"Yeah, you come right here. Come get it from me." Still going to make you work for it. Have you earn the pleasure of your relief. The thought makes you throb with need, a full, deep clenching of want between your legs as you fight not to writhe wantonly in his lap. "But not here. In your bed. Where I can be all thorough with you. Take care of you properly."

You groan, push down on his fingers, stealing one slow rub from him with a thrust of your hips before he pulls his hand away.

"Gonna be my way now, Kat." Like it hasn't been since the moment he's set foot into your quarters tonight. Like you haven't catered so assiduously to his every need. But he'll see you surrender yourself fully to him, receive your pleasure as his gift, given with all the ardor he's capable of.

And you're going to love every last moment of it.

"That a promise, Gabriel?" It's a tone of voice he's not yet heard from you, that low, throaty purr, and you can tell exactly how much it's getting to him. How he's starting to grow hard again just from the sound of it.

Two can play at this game, and you're playing for keeps.

"If you're being very good for me. Do as I say." He doesn't let you look away, waits for you to nod, submit yourself to his command. Fuck, _yes_. But you can't help yourself, can't keep yourself from showing some rebellion, a little something for him to oppose. And so you don't give him a nod, but a smile, demure with a generous lick of _we'll see about that_. He smirks in recognition, a heated flash of pleasure in his eyes. Challenge accepted. "Get on the bed, Kat."

He gives you the pleasure of letting you watch him strip before he joins you on the bed, naked and well on his way to fully aroused. Hovering with his legs on either side of one of your thighs, he uses the imperative nudge of his knee to spread your legs to his satisfaction. Then he brings your hands to your breasts, smiling wantonly as he makes you rub your fingers over your skin.

"That's it, touch yourself. Show yourself off to me."

And you arch, writhe under the naked hunger in his eyes, push and pull your fingers over the pink softness of your breasts, whimpering as he descends on you to suck a nipple into the heat of his mouth, the gentle graze of his teeth leaving it full and stiff and aching with pleasure.

At the same time, he teases at the fabric of your panties, dragging and rubbing it over your clit, far too light to get you off.

"We'll leave them on for now. Have you squirm and soak them some more. All wet for me.”

You whimper at the roughness of his voice, the unbearable lightness of his touch where you need it the most, and for some time, it's his mouth and your hands moving in concert over your breasts, Gabriel suckling and licking on both your fingers and your nipples. You squeeze one breast for him to suck on, while your hands tangle over the other, far more gentle than his mouth on you.

He uses his free hand to stroke you idly, to keep you trapped right there on the edge, his fingers slipping into and underneath your panties, the slow, elusive lightness of his touch making you arch and rub yourself into the waiting curl of his hand.

On and on his teasing goes, until he stops to look up at you, the upward bend of his head nothing short of seductive, so very alluring that your pulse is thick and hard and racing with it.

You've never been kept this expertly close to almost coming, just one touch away from finding your release, and he looks like he knows, pleased and smug and _happy_ with the knowledge that you've never known a pleasure like this.

"Tell me what you want, Kat. No? Should I guess? Make it my choice? Maybe I'll lick you till you can't stop panting my name. Or perhaps I could rub you just a little bit harder. That's all it'll take, isn't it, darling? So close for me already. I can tell how much you need it. All desperate to come for me. But I want you to hold out for a little longer. Can you do that for me?"

"Cocktease," you groan, and you barely recognize your own voice, a low, deep growl of lust rolling thickly over your tongue.

"And don't you love it. Tell me you do, Kat."

"Fuck. Fuck, yes, Gabriel, god, yes, I do. I love it." And you're looking at him, your meaning loud and clear, and fully understood.

It darkens his eyes, puts a glaze of raw need over his face, and you wonder if you will ever be able to fully satisfy it. If you want to, when it would mean he'd stop looking at you this way. Desperately, deliriously hungry for you.

He lets himself sink into the restless flex of your thigh, a heavenly tease against the growing swell of his hardening cock; grunting, he rubs himself into the thrust of your leg, leaving your skin hot and damp with his arousal.

You watch him drop his head with a groan, his fingers clenching on your hips as he fights for control, struggles with the urge to let himself come like this, his cock trapped tightly against your leg as he spills himself in a messy rush, warm and sticky all over your thigh.

It's a close call, but eventually he stills, a fevered look on his face, his mouth tight with the effort of reining himself in.

Breaking the tacit agreement between you, his unspoken set of rules for tonight, you run your hands all over him, stroke your palms over the strong lines of his arms, sweep them over the broad of his back, all that hot skin and hard muscle just begging for your touch.

He groans with abandon under the slide of your hands, but resists when you try to pull him closer, entice him to put his weight on you, cover you with the full force of his body.

“Gabriel. Please. You're not--”

“I'm not what? You tell me, Kat. Tell me what you need, love.”

"You're not... close enough."

With a growl, he finally moves to align himself with you, kissing you hard as he tugs at your panties, grunting when you lift your hips so he can slide them off. He doesn't enter you right away, keeps himself poised over your body, just barely out of reach, sliding one hand over your cheek to cup your face, holding your gaze with an intensity that takes your breath away before he finally pushes into you. Ever so slow, ever so careful, drawing the moment out to the fullest. Making every second count.

Never once looking away, never for a moment hiding from you the full extent of his emotions for you. The swell of his pleasure, the incredibly intimate fondness in his gaze, the same deep devotion he's already let you see earlier tonight.

It's overwhelming and you clutch at him, gasp as he moves and pushes and looks at you, smiling before he bends to kiss you, slow and sweet as though you're not racing toward your release together. His hand on your hip coaxing you to rock yourself against him, and you fall into his rhythm, fall into _him_ , his mouth, his hands, the insistent stretch and rub and pulse of him inside you.

He presses close as he feels you coming, murmuring into your ear as you shatter apart, whispering his adoration while you clench and pulse and throb so deep and rich with nothing but endless waves of pleasure.

You thread your fingers through his hair to pull him close, fuse your mouth to his ear even as you're still panting through your climax, cradling him near while he's tensing and pushing and rocking so desperately with his oncoming release.

"Come for me, Gabriel. Give yourself over to me." You press a kiss to the shell of his ear and he's shuddering, shaking with the urge to let himself go, and you keep talking to help him find his way into bliss. "Let me have you. Make yourself mine."

You have no name for the sound he makes, a raw kind of wail from deep within his chest, and then he's coming, pushing himself into you, his arms going tight around your body, holding you in, his face pressed into the bend of your neck as he rides out his release.

It seems forever until he goes slack, moaning while you run your fingers through his hair, stroking the crown of his head, the nape of his neck, what you can reach of his face.

"Kat," he whispers, his lips and breath so deliciously hot on your skin, "Kat, please, don't stop touching me."

The soft, pleading tone of his voice makes your heart go out to him, so wide and warm and full with emotion for him, and you're happy to oblige, to caress him to his heart's content.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Gabriel," you murmur as he bends his head to kiss your palm. "You feel so very good. So very lovely in my hands. All mine to touch."

He burrows near, another shudder running through him, and then he lifts himself to kiss you with an ardor that makes you moan and writhe under the sated press of his weight. Eventually, his kiss turns sweeter, soft and gentle like his hand in your hair, and he pulls you with him as he shifts to his side, sighing with regret as he slips from your warmth, the intimacy of your connection no longer complete. He compensates by nestling you close, tucking you against his chest, and you smile with it, the warmth and barely veiled possessiveness of his embrace.

After a while, he pulls back just enough to be able to look at you, his eyes dark and intent, his fingers hesitant where they trail the line of your jaw.

"Tell me I can stay. Come back whenever I like."

"Of course you can. I'm happy to share my bed, and my time with you. This night, and any other you choose to spend with me."

He's not a fling, not a passing infatuation. Never has been. He's a permanent affliction. Someone you don't want to let go of.

"It's not a choice. Can't seem to stay away from you for too long."

How serious he looks, how unsure of you. You feel a pang for him, an implacable desire to soothe his doubts.

"Then don't, Gabriel. You stay close to me. Let me make you mine."

He groans and pushes close again, kissing you hard, with a fierce desperation that makes you rub your fingers through his hair in slow, soothing circles.

"Been yours since the first day I saw you at the academy,” he whispers hoarsely. “Only got worse when I realized your mind could run circles round mine. Couldn't stop thinking about you. Still can't."

The admission makes you take a hold of his chin, searching his eyes while you stroke your fingers over the first roughness of stubble emerging on his cheek.

"No consequences, huh? Was that you settling for what you could get, or another one of your more daring maneuvers?"

There's a fierceness in his eyes, a certainty that makes your heart skip a beat, and then another as he gives you one of his rare bashful smiles.

"I knew we would click. In bed, and outside of it. All I needed was a chance to prove it. Persuade you to give it a try. Let me show you we could be good together. For each other." He kisses you again, urgent and deep, and you couldn't be any further gone on him if you tried.

"I haven't told anyone this in a very long time. You mean something to me, Gabriel. More than something. A lot. More than I would admit to myself."

"But you can admit it to me." It's hard to breathe with that look in his eyes, the intensity of it, the smile that softens his face with a glow of delight.

"Any time you want me to." You kiss him softly, grazing your lips over his mouth to match the airy touch of your fingers in his hair. "My dear, sweet Gabriel. I don't think you know how lovely you are."

"You forgot handsome," he says, and you laugh despite the roughness of emotion in his voice, the reverent sweep of his fingers over the side of your face.

The depth of his feelings so open and naked for you to see. To take, and to keep.

"And humble," you say, and take great care to let him hear every last bit of the affection you feel for him, that deep pull of emotion that wouldn't let you stay his colleague, his friend, when nothing less than being in his arms was enough to satisfy that unruly, undeniable yearning in your heart.

He kisses your smile, painting it over with one of his own, and you return to running your hands over him, letting your fingers tell him how much you love to touch him. How you can't imagine to ever let go of him.

Sooner or later, your need for him will rise again, but for now, you're happy to let yourself grow drowsy in his arms, have him give you lazy little kisses that end in smiles or whispered little nothings.

As you feel yourself begin to drift off, he stirs around you, brushing a strand of hair from where it's drifted to the warmth of your cheek.

"Kat?"

"Mhm?"

"Is there going to be breakfast in the morning?"

You don't have to see him to know that he's grinning, his mouth curled in that unique mix of perfectly innocent and thinly veiled teasing, and you tighten your fingers lightly over the nape of his neck in mock aggravation, not even bothering to smother your answering smile where it falls against the side of his neck.

"If you're prepared to get up and get us some."

And he's laughing around you, and you're warm with his mirth, and isn't a dream you could come up with that would leave you any happier than this.


End file.
